


A step away from the herd

by Teland



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Anal Fingering, Centaurs, First Time, Happy Ending, Light BDSM, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Oral Sex, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 22:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11300472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: Porthos shrugs. "Aramis — one of my brothers — has made love with humans before. So has my father, and some of the others. Not a *lot* of the others, but some. It's not *completely* unknown."And that — loosens something in d'Artagnan's chest.He's not —Well, no, he's a deviant.He's thinking about this, and Porthos isn't his *species*, and also his cock is —Is —"Are you trying to be *subtle* about looking at my cock?""... yes?"Porthos canters ahead and a little more to the side. "Have at."





	1. Definitely let's make friends.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Jack/gifts), [mellyflori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyflori/gifts).



> Disclaimers: Not mine, except for what is. 
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: This is a Greek mythology AU. If you find a spoiler, I will be extremely surprised. 
> 
> Author's Note: I've been threatening to write centaur fic for *years*. I really was due for it. I started this one literally one day before this spring's depressapalooza started, and had to stop writing immediately, though. BUT.
> 
> My birthday is coming up, and my Jack is buying me art for it, as they are wont to do. I got to choose what I wanted, and my soul yearned toward a centaur!Porthos. Seeing the WIP sketches kicked my ass into gear. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Much love and appreciation to Melly, Spice, Houndstar, and my Jack for audiencing, inspiration, helpful suggestions, helpful noises, and everything they always do to make things right for me. :D

There's no way to avoid being aware of the Herd. 

Living here, amid the valleys and grasslands — well. Humans were *not* here first. All the stories say so, and the darker stories talk about what it was like for the humans who *did* get here first. 

Before the centaurs decided to accept them — provisionally. 

Before they found a little common ground, and goods they could trade. 

Before they could stand to be around each other for long enough to learn each other's *languages*. 

It's uneasy, sometimes — memories last long when there's nothing to do on the long, balmy nights *but* tell stories and drink — but d'Artagnan's family has been one of the ones trading with the centaurs for generations now. 

They don't tell the darker stories when they're getting their goods packed-up and ready to be sent with the centaurs' emissaries. 

They don't sing the darker songs. 

d'Artagnan's father has always said that the centaurs will treat you as fairly as any man — as any of the *best* men — if you treat them the same way, and d'Artagnan has had the chance to observe that for himself. 

It isn't just that they like d'Artagnan's family — they treat all the trading families well, and ignore the humans who ignore them, and who cross the narrow streets to avoid them. 

They're strange to look at, of course — massive and strong and *naked* all the time, except for the jewelry some of the men *and* women wear in patterns and styles d'Artagnan has yet to be able to crack the code of. 

Some of them pay old Serene — in silver and gold and even the strong, vaguely eldritch liquor they brew that brings visions — to *make* jewelry for them. 

Serene's family has the finest house in the valley, and Serene herself has all the assistants she needs. 

For a time, d'Artagnan was considering courting one of those assistants — Madeleine, with the honey hair and brown eyes as deep as anything — but she had never shown any interest in a mere trader. Madeleine hopes to marry *directly* into Serene's family — Serene has four sons. 

d'Artagnan couldn't hold it against her in the slightest. 

He's kept himself to dalliances with the stableboys — good stableboys are at a premium, since no one dares have ill-cared-for horses in a place where centaurs could easily *smell* it. 

The stories say a lot about *that*. 

His parents occasionally prod him to look more seriously toward getting a wife, but... there's really no one he wants. 

When he thinks about it — and when he does, it's vaguely, and without much depth — he always figures that there's some younger girl in the valleys he just hasn't noticed, yet, because she's *too* young. That, one day, the girl will be a woman, and she'll be right for him — or right enough — and then they'll be married and have children. 

It seems just as plausible as anything else, especially since his parents never put *much* pressure on. 

It's easy enough to laugh off their questions and chides, and go out to the field to check on the stock, or to the caves to check on their cheeses — the centaurs like their cheeses very much. 

It's on one of these trips — he doesn't even think of them as escapes — that d'Artagnan's life changes significantly. 

d'Artagnan is riding Camille — one of their (relatively) small, sturdy bays — down toward their small olive groves when Camille gives the unmistakable shiver-and-snort-and-shy that means there's at least one centaur near. d'Artagnan slows them to a walk while calming and petting her, and waiting — 

And, after a moment, the centaur walks out of the trees with a rueful expression on his handsome, human-enough face, and a chunk of one of d'Artagnan's family's own cheeses in his hand — d'Artagnan recognizes it by the sharp, tangy smell. 

d'Artagnan smiles and nods. 

"Is your horse well? I didn't mean to startle her." The centaur's voice is low and rumbling, and his eyes are wide and dark —

d'Artagnan smiles wider. "She's all right. We trade with your kind all the time, sir. She's used to the scents. She was just surprised." 

The centaur raises his eyebrows. "You're of one of the trading families? Which one? I was coming to meet them all. I'll be joining the caravan next month." 

d'Artagnan — grins. And nods to the cheese in Porthos's hand. "d'Artagnan. Would you mind if I asked your —" 

"Oh — I'm sorry, I'm not used to —" And the centaur laughs deeply, broadly — 

d'Artagnan blinks — 

"I'm Porthos," he says, and reaches to clasp arms with d'Artagnan. 

Other centaurs touch hands to shoulders, or —

And d'Artagnan notices the *massive* bow slung across Porthos's back and the *axe* on his hip. 

"I..." 

"Mm?"

"Sorry, are they — are you a guard?" 

"We always send guards, lad," Porthos says, with a smile. "We just try to be less obvious about it when we're coming in a crowd." 

And that... only took a little thought. "Right, I — sorry —" 

"Shh, it's all right," Porthos says, and breaks off half his cheese to share with d'Artagnan. 

"Oh, I can't —" 

"Please. You have to know they tell us terrible things about humans, about the things you did to horses before we taught you better, all that." 

d'Artagnan blushes — 

Porthos offers the cheese more vigorously — 

d'Artagnan takes the cheese, and eats. It's been kept somewhere dark and cool to age even more than *they'd* aged it, so it's gained a ripe nuttiness that d'Artagnan can't help but approve of — 

And Porthos has bread, too — the rough, oat-y bread centaurs prefer, but still — 

d'Artagnan shares his wine — 

And, when they're done, they belch a few times — Porthos *ringingly* — and grin at each other. Porthos reaches over to pat his belly. 

"Oh —" 

"Your family needs to feed you more. Or are you just at that age? It's hard for me to tell with humans." 

d'Artagnan blushes *hard* — "I'm um — a bit lean. Naturally." 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

d'Artagnan blushes harder. "I'm also at that age," he mutters. 

Porthos nods judiciously. His mouth is broad and soft even when he's pretending to frown, and it's framed by a beard that looks soft with curls and — 

And d'Artagnan realizes what he's doing just a little too late to keep Porthos from giving him a *quizzical* look. 

It — *fuck* — 

"Lad?" 

"You — I should..."

Porthos studies him and that's dangerous, that's *dangerous* — 

d'Artagnan studies Porthos's *body*. 

Not the human-enough body. His *horse*-body. His — his long, tall, *strong* horse-body, his deep, dark-brown fur — 

His hooves — 

His *hooves* — 

His *tail* — he switches it to chase a fly away and d'Artagnan looks up guiltily. 

"I — I apologize —" 

"I'd *assumed* you were accustomed to my kind," Porthos says, but there's a smile on his face, and a gentler smile in his voice. He knows — something. 

He knows d'Artagnan was staring for a *reason* and — 

And he's offering d'Artagnan an out. 

The question is... does he want to take it? "I..." 

He licks his lips. 

He doesn't know. 

He doesn't know, at *all*, and he's still blushing hard enough to heat a whole *farmhouse*, and — 

"I — let me introduce you to everyone?" 

Porthos gives him another studying look. "Are you sure, lad? I *can* find my way on my own." 

This — this is easier. d'Artagnan grins. "But you don't *have* to," he says, and turns Camille back the way he'd come.

"No, eh?" 

"No. And — call me d'Artagnan." 

"Not lad...?" And that's a *teasing* smile. 

d'Artagnan smiles wryly. "I know I haven't been acting like it, but I'm *not* actually a child." 

Porthos makes a soothing gesture, and there's the usual strangeness of riding beside someone who isn't *riding*, at all — 

Who isn't using *reins* — 

d'Artagnan shakes it off. 

"I know you're going to say something about how it's all right that I haven't been *professional* with you, Porthos, but I'm going to be taking over the family business soon enough —" 

"And you're allowed to have friends." 

d'Artagnan blinks. "I — what?"

Porthos smiles at him ruefully. "You're allowed to have people you're not professional with, at all. Aren't you?" 

"Well — yes. And I *do* —" 

"Do you? Who are they?" 

"Well — I have a lot of fun with the stableboys. Some of the other boys in town, too." 

"So, let's see, you have fun with the boys who work for your family —" 

"I —" 

"— and the boys you only get to see when you or they don't have other work to do." 

"Well — that's how these things *work*, Porthos!" 

"No, no, I'm not — I'm not casting aspersions. *Believe* me. It's not so different in the Herd." 

"It — no?" 

"No," Porthos says, and grins at him ruefully. "I hardly ever saw anyone else once I was in training to be a soldier." 

"Oh."

"Yeah." 

"Do *you* have good friends?" 

"I do, actually. Two of them," Porthos says, and sighs like his heart is hurting in good ways. "They're my *brothers*." And Porthos strokes down his chest and belly shamelessly. 

So — 

It seems so *strange* that there are no genitals at the end of his torso, that they're all the way back — 

How does he *masturbate*? 

How does he live *without* it if he *doesn't*? 

Do centaurs only wish to mount when their females are in estrus? Or...

Stallions seem to want to mount a lot more often than *that*, in *his* experience, so — 

"Lad — no. *d'Artagnan*." 

"I —" 

"I can *feel* all those questions in your head —" 

"You *can*?" 

"Not literally. I'm not a seer or anything — though now I kind of wish I was —" 

"Fuck —" 

And Porthos laughs hugely again — "*Come* on, now. Tell me what you're *thinking*. I'll answer your questions, and you can answer mine." 

"I — ask yours first?" 

"All right," Porthos says easily. "Do you make love to your friends? *With* your friends." 

d'Artagnan coughs and — doesn't grip the reins. Does *not*. He's a better horseman than that. 

Porthos nods in approval. 

"I um — yeah. I do." And d'Artagnan blushes *again* — 

Porthos *studies* him again — and nods. "Do you like it with men, d'Artagnan?" 

"What? I — I wouldn't *do* it if I *didn't*, Porthos." 

"Easy, easy. All sorts of young men wind up getting up to foolery with other young men just because that's what's *available* to them. Does that make sense?" 

"Oh. Well... yeah. But that's not — I mean. I've always liked... both." 

Porthos grins at him and waggles his eyebrows. "Me, too." 

Which brings to mind images of Porthos being mounted — 

Mounting centaur females — 

Weren't there stories of centaur females mounting other centaurs if they were — 

"Still don't want to ask any of those questions...?" 

*Fuck* — "I..." 

"I mean... I could guess at a *couple* of them..." 

d'Artagnan *looks* at Porthos — 

Porthos winks at him. "You're not the first human to wonder how we go about fucking, d'Artagnan." 

"*I* —" 

"I wasn't expecting to get it from the first human I *met* —" 

"I *apologize* —" 

"But then... I also wasn't expecting to smell... attraction," Porthos says, and flares his nostrils.

Well, that's just — 

"d'Artagnan." 

"Porthos —" 

"If you could smell me as well as I can smell you... you'd be smelling the same thing," Porthos says in that low, rumbling voice. 

And that. "Oh." 

"Yeah." 

"Oh..." 

"So."

"I..." 

"I'd say we're both a bit odd, if you were wondering. I mean, it's not so strange to feel hot for someone you've just met, but your musk is barely *there*." 

"What." 

"And you don't — well, no, you're obviously adult *enough*, but that's why I keep asking those questions. An adolescent centaur, right around your age, who was as randy as I *think* you are —" 

"*Fuck* —" 

"— would be leaving a *cloud* of musk all over this valley. We'd have to lock up the younger lasses lest they got too excitable." 

"I." 

"Well, not literally." 

"No?" 

"Mostly not literally. There are potions for that now; the girls don't get *violent* anymore —" 

"Um." 

"Hm?" 

"You're attracted to me?" 

Porthos blinks. "You're a damned pretty young man." 

"Even though I'm — not your kind?" 

Porthos shrugs. "Aramis — one of my brothers — has made love with humans before. So has my father, and some of the others. Not a *lot* of the others, but some. It's not *completely* unknown." 

And that — loosens something in d'Artagnan's chest. 

He's not — 

Well, no, he's a deviant. 

He's thinking about this, and Porthos isn't his *species*, and also his cock is — 

Is — 

"Are you trying to be *subtle* about looking at my cock?" 

"... yes?" 

Porthos canters ahead and a little more to the side. "Have at." 

"Thank you? No. I — thank you." 

"Mm-hm." 

Well, his cock is — enormous. Just — huge. 

Long and — long. 

Longer than anything — ANYTHING — d'Artagnan has ever taken. 

Longer — 

And the shape — 

And there's *fur* on the *sheath* — 

And the slick head is peeking out just a little, and there's no way he's fit to be introduced to everyone in town with an *erection*. 

There's a voice in d'Artagnan's head congratulating him for coming up with an excellent excuse for calling a halt and just... spending a little more time alone with Porthos. 

d'Artagnan wishes it didn't sound quite so much like his parents. 

He rides up beside Porthos again. 

"Did you get enough of a look?" 

"Absolutely not," d'Artagnan says, and laughs hard. 

Porthos grins. "We can do something about that..." 

"I was... I was thinking about that." 

"Were you, now..." 

"I... could we talk more first?" 

Porthos licks his lips. "Yeah. We can. We can keep going —" 

"No, I — over here," d'Artagnan says, and leads them off the road and down into one of the deeper valleys. It floods too often for people to build, and there's as much soft moss as grass below them. There are wildflowers and drowsy bees and the air is sweet and — 

And Porthos reaches over and strokes d'Artagnan's face with big, long, rough fingers. "This is beautiful. Thank you for showing me." 

d'Artagnan shivers. "You're welcome —" 

Porthos breaks into a gallop until he's at a slightly higher — and dryer — elevation — and then he takes off his weapons and bag and rolls in the grass like a foal. 

He — 

Camille whickers like she wants to do the exact same thing. 

d'Artagnan grins and gallops up to join him, then quickly unsaddles Camille so she can have her head. 

She dances and rolls in the same spots Porthos had rolled in — Porthos is now sprawled half on his side a little distance away, laughing at Camille's antics — and then dances a little further away to crop at the sweet grass. 

"I'll have to bring her here more often," d'Artagnan says, settling near Porthos and offering his much-denuded wineskin. 

"Do that. The grasses have a nice tang," Porthos says, and takes a *brief* drink. "I think it's probably — this valley floods a lot, yeah?" 

d'Artagnan nods and takes the skin back. "A few families tried to build here years ago, but..." He shakes his head. 

Porthos nods. "When you get a lot of flooding like that, but the water can't really drain off *completely*, can't take away the soil and all the goodness... well, you get *this*," Porthos says, and gestures expansively. "If your people could figure out a schedule for planting, you could get really *good* crops out of this valley." 

d'Artagnan drinks and thinks about it — "Were you a farmer, before you were a soldier?" 

"Not many of us farm, d'Artagnan. Our lands aren't as rich as these, and we don't tend to want the crops your people do." 

"Oh, I — that's true. Sorry —" 

"No, no, don't worry about it. It was a reasonable question. We do have *some* farmers — we never get enough oats, as I'm sure you've guessed — and we're good at *fertilizing* the soil —" 

d'Artagnan coughs — 

Porthos winks. "Anyway. It's a challenge, with our bodies the way they are. More than once in the councils we've discussed offering gold to your people so that they'd send a few strong men and women to help out." 

"*Really*?" 

"Oh, yeah. Or we've thought of an exchange, like. You send us your farmers, we send you caravan guards — or even a seer, depending on how much you give us." 

d'Artagnan blinks and blinks. "That would be... that would change everything," he says, and takes another drink before handing the skin over. 

"Wouldn't it, though?" Porthos drinks, too. "That's the main reason the offers haven't happened, yet." 

"You're not sure we're trustworthy." 

Porthos gives him a wry smile. "*You're* not sure *we* are." 

d'Artagnan flushes with wine and indignation. "It's not — it's not *everyone* —" 

"It's not you...?" 

"*Or* my family!" 

Porthos licks his soft lips. 

His dark eyes are a little wide. 

His... his broad, naked chest —- 

He's breathing just a little fast. 

"Centaurs don't hide from each other," Porthos says, exactly out of nowhere, and d'Artagnan looks *up* — 

"I — no?" 

Porthos searches d'Artagnan's face. "No, d'Artagnan. It would be... worse than pointless. We can smell each other. Taste each other on the air." 

"Oh. I guess that would make clothes kind of..." d'Artagnan licks his lips and takes off his shirt. 

Porthos makes a low, guttural noise of hunger, it has to be *hunger* — 

And when d'Artagnan looks at him again, he's *reaching* toward d'Artagnan, asking — 

d'Artagnan scoots closer — 

Porthos smiles, bright and hopeful and *happy*, and pulls d'Artagnan in against him *easily* — 

He's so *strong* — 

He's so — 

And the size of him is *really* brought home when d'Artagnan reaches up to wrap his arms around Porthos's neck and realizes that the *mannish* parts of him had only seemed normal-sized because they were proportional to the *horse* parts of him. 

He's... big. 

Very big. 

"d'Artagnan...?"

"I... I smell intimidated. Don't I." 

"A bit, yeah," Porthos says, and pushes d'Artagnan back enough that they can meet each other's eyes. Porthos's eyes are worried. "What can I do?" 

"I um. Talk to me more? I just... you're so *big*." 

Porthos winces and nods — 

"No — no, don't take that — I mean. You're incredible. You're... you're really beautiful," d'Artagnan says, and blushes. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone... um. It's just. *I'm* used to being bigger than my... friends." 

Porthos blinks — and nods again. 

And strokes all over d'Artagnan's back with his huge, hot, rough *hands* — 

d'Artagnan shivers and presses back into it — 

And Porthos's eyes are — hot. *Hungry*. 

"Porthos..." 

"Do you usually... control things, d'Artagnan? With your friends?" 

For a moment, that question makes no sense. Paul is always getting them into trouble — when he's not in too much trouble already to join them — and Fulbert always does all the talking — but. 

That's not what Porthos is talking about. 

And suddenly d'Artagnan is thinking about all the times he's bent Paul over something — *anything* — and *delved* into his arse — 

All the times he's made Paul *pay*, just a little, for all his tricks and games... 

And Fulbert doesn't do any talking on his knees. 

Not really. 

Except for the pleading in his eyes. 

d'Artagnan shivers again — 

"Those smell like good thoughts..." 

"I..." But hiding would be wrong. Would be...

He's not going to hide. 

He looks up into Porthos's eyes. "I... control my friends. When we're making love. With the stableboys, it's more... playful." 

Porthos pants. "You... your friends. You tell them what to do? Maybe push them around a bit?" 

d'Artagnan is sweating. He wants — 

He wants Porthos to stroke him again. He presses and rubs against those big hands — 

He does it *hard* — 

And Porthos makes a noise that's somewhere between a growl and a whicker, deep in his throat — 

d'Artagnan *blushes* — 

"You want me to pet you, d'Artagnan...?" 

"I — yeah? If you want —" 

"I do," Porthos says, and his eyes *narrow*. "But I wonder if you should answer my question first..." 

d'Artagnan *grunts* — 

"You've played that game before." 

"Yeah. Yeah, I — um." d'Artagnan strokes Porthos's broad, broad shoulders — 

*Thinks* about it — 

Breathes Porthos *in* — the horsey smell of him is only *part* of what makes him what he is. 

He smells... different. 

Not like a *man*. But like — 

Like something hungry. 

Hungry for him. 

d'Artagnan leans in the little distance between them and kisses Porthos's mouth softly. 

Porthos makes that — that *noise* again — 

d'Artagnan *blushes* — "I'll answer all your questions." 

"Will you?" 

"Yes — yes, Porthos." 

Porthos winces again — but this time it's lust. It's obvious on his handsome face, beautiful and clear and — 

d'Artagnan kisses him again — 

Again *harder* — 

Porthos makes that *noise* — 

That noise that makes it impossible to *forget* that he's a centaur — 

And his kiss is just as big as he is, just as — 

It *takes* d'Artagnan's mouth, it *fills* it with Porthos's hot, slick tongue — 

d'Artagnan grunts and sucks — 

Blushes and *sucks* — 

And those hands are moving on his back again, petting him slowly, *strongly*, *wonderfully* — 

d'Artagnan wants more, wants — 

He pulls back — 

Porthos makes an obviously-unhappy noise. 

"I — I wanted to know where you're sensitive, what I could do to —" 

"Answer my questions, d'Artagnan," Porthos says, and smiles *slowly*. 

d'Artagnan... doesn't remember. "Could you... remind me?" 

"Do you tell your friends what to *do*. Do you push them *around*." 

"Oh. I — yeah, a little." 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

"Sometimes more than a little," d'Artagnan says, and blushes. "I — they... expect it, from me." 

"Is it what you like?" 

"From them, yes — oh." 

"Mm?" 

d'Artagnan licks his lips, tasting wine and Porthos. "I thought I was going to say that I hadn't thought about it." 

Porthos smiles at him — and moves one huge hand to d'Artagnan's face. He strokes d'Artagnan, and pets him — 

Pets d'Artagnan's *mouth* — 

His fingers are so — 

d'Artagnan kisses them, licks them, nuzzles and *nips* them — 

And Porthos sighs. "We sometimes think through things when we're doing other things, all unawares." 

"I — mm. I know —" 

"You just weren't expecting to think through that?" 

d'Artagnan smiles ruefully. "I try not to think about how much time I spend thinking about sex." 

Porthos laughs hard. "That kind of not-thinking gets you into *trouble*, d'Artagnan..." 

"Does it?" 

Porthos nods mock-solemnly. "All alone in lonely valleys with amorous beast-men —" 

"Hey —" 

Porthos's eyes *flash* — "Have you ever wanted to play that game...?"

"You're not a *beast* —" 

"Not what I asked, d'Artagnan," Porthos says, and his hands tighten just that little extra bit — 

That little — 

"Answer me." 

And that... it's an important question. A *very* important question, because — "If I can only have you once, Porthos, then I would rather have *you*." 

Porthos inhales *sharply* — 

Makes that whicker-growling noise — 

Noses in against d'Artagnan's neck and shoulder — 

"Oh —" 

"You smell so good. You *taste* —" And Porthos licks him — 

"Please —" 

And licks him and licks him — 

And licks the sweat off his throat and his cheek and *kisses* him again — 

*Again* — 

So *deep* — 

And his hands are greedy on d'Artagnan, his hands are so — 

All over him — 

All over him so *hungrily* — and then they *pause* on his hips. 

Porthos is panting into d'Artagnan's throat again — 

Panting and *nipping* — 

And d'Artagnan is still wearing his trousers. That — 

He can no longer remember why he'd left them on. He — 

"Please," he says. "Please let me take them off —" 

Porthos growls and nips, makes that *noise* and nips — 

d'Artagnan's *aching* cock *jumps* — 

"I don't want to let you go, d'Artagnan..." 

d'Artagnan laughs breathlessly. "Then maybe I can — uh. Wriggle?" 

Porthos laughs delightedly. "Let's do that *immediately*." 

"Are you *serious*?" 

"Soldiers have to do all *sorts* of flexibility exercises," Porthos says, and nods mock-sagely, hands flexing tellingly on d'Artagnan's hips. 

d'Artagnan laughs more — "*Fine*," he says, and squeezes and works his arms between them — 

Porthos hums — 

d'Artagnan — is already wriggling. 

A *lot*. 

He can't even reach his *laces* — "You — you're going to have to give me a little room to work —" 

"No, I don't think so —" 

d'Artagnan laughs explosively — 

And Porthos grins at him — 

*Studies* him and grins — 

d'Artagnan licks his lips and *shoves* his hands down between them — "Oh, there —" 

"Yeah?" 

"I can just —" d'Artagnan fiddles with the laces and bites his lip — 

And Porthos makes that noise and kisses him — 

Kisses him so — 

*Sucks* his lips, lower then upper, and *fucks* d'Artagnan's mouth, and d'Artagnan is shaking and *yanking* at the laces, and getting distracted by the way his knuckles brush against Porthos's hot skin — 

Against the place where the skin becomes fur, so sleek, so *sleek* — 

"I want to *pet* you," d'Artagnan slurs — and then jerks back, mortified — 

Porthos blinks at him — 

d'Artagnan winces — "Sorry —" 

"Shh. You want to... touch more than the human-ish parts of me?" 

"Well — yeah? Of course I do —" 

"Oh fuck. Uh. Mm. Would you mind if I..." And Porthos moves his hands from d'Artagnan's hips to the laces — 

He pushes d'Artagnan back just a little bit — 

"I just... let me take your clothes off —" 

"Do you know how human clothes *work*?" 

"Absolutely *not*, but Aramis and my father have told a lot of stories about their conquests, and you pick a few things — oh, I see, it's like the ties on our leather armor —" 

"You wear armor?" 

"Sometimes, yeah — and when we plan on shooting our bows for long periods of time, you know —" 

"Oh, right — right —" 

"Oh, *there* are your scents — you smell —" And Porthos makes that sound again — 

Looks so hungry — 

*His* scents get so — 

So amazingly *intense* — 

"Porthos..." 

"Mm? Oh, wait, we have to get your boots and — whatever you've got on under them —" 

"Socks, but —" 

"Tell me. Ask me," Porthos says, and then just *cups* d'Artagnan's cock, strokes it, holds it in one hand, and d'Artagnan *knows* that's he's bigger than the other boys — and a lot of the other men, going by reports, but Porthos's hand just *swallows* him. 

d'Artagnan gasps — 

Moans — 

Forgets *everything* he was going to say — 

And then forgets most of his personal *history* when Porthos drags his huge hand *off* d'Artagnan's cock, drags it slow and hard and *hot*, and starts to sniff and lick and suck — 

Suck all the slick away — 

d'Artagnan *whines* like a *baby* — 

And Porthos looks at him over his own hand, eyes so — hungry. 

"Do you. Do you like the way I taste?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, I do, d'Artagnan," Porthos says, and licks his broad lips — 

His — 

So shiny with *spit* — 

d'Artagnan's cock *jerks* — 

They *both* stare at it — 

And Porthos makes that noise and *hauls* off d'Artagnan's boots — 

Tugs his socks off — 

Drags down his trousers and smallclothes and — 

And d'Artagnan is naked, just like Porthos, right there in the grass under the sunshine, and Porthos's big hands are *really* all over him. Just — 

Stroking his chest and his hips — 

Stroking his ridiculously hairy legs — 

Thumbing his nipples which seem so *tiny* in this moment — 

d'Artagnan is *gasping* — 

"You like that?" 

"Yeah — yeah — *fuck* —" 

And Porthos is just *lifting* him, just — 

Holding d'Artagnan up *easily* — 

Mouthing and *sniffing* his chest — 

*Licking* his nipples — 

Scraping his *teeth* — 

"Please! Please, Porthos!" 

"Please what? Mm?" And he *slurps* around d'Artagnan's right nipple — 

Sucks *hard* — 

d'Artagnan *shouts* — 

Porthos *crushes* him close, and it's hard to breathe and *impossible* to move his upper body, or do anything with his lower body but... press closer. 

*Grind* closer — 

Porthos's skin is so *hot* — 

His belly is so soft — 

So hard *under* the softness, and the fur on it is so — 

It's nothing like hair. 

It's nothing like *anything* d'Artagnan has ever felt on his cock and he can't stop, he can't — 

He pushes his hands into the curls on Porthos's head, and doesn't know whether he's disappointed or not that they feel more like human hair. They — 

Not completely like human hair. Not — 

He can't stop touching it, stop stroking, tugging, carding *through* it — 

Porthos whickers *without* the growl, and it sounds like a particular laugh, like pleasure, like *happiness* — 

"*Please* —" 

"Just tell me what you want, mm?" And Porthos *bites* d'Artagnan's nipple — 

And his other nipple — 

And — 

Back and *forth* — 

d'Artagnan's mouth falls open — 

He *bucks* — 

He *yanks* Porthos's hair — 

And Porthos lifts him *higher* — 

"Oh — *gods*!" 

"You smell *perfect*," Porthos says, and noses in *next* to d'Artagnan's cock — 

d'Artagnan's jerking, leaking — 

He's leaking all over Porthos's face and *neck* — 

"Fuck — *fuck* —" 

Another *whicker* — 

"I want to smell *you*," d'Artagnan blurts — and then. "Fuck. *Fuck*, I can't see, I can't tell, are you as hard as I am?" 

Porthos turns his head and *licks* along the length of d'Artagnan's cock — 

"Unh —" 

"I'm aching, d'Artagnan. I'm leaving a *puddle* of slick in the grass." 

"Oh, fuck — I want to tell you not to *waste* that," d'Artagnan says, laughing and moaning and blushing all at once — 

And Porthos is giving him a *wondering* look. 

A — 

A hungry and needy and *starved* — 

He makes that *noise*, and suddenly he's swallowing d'Artagnan's cock, swallowing all of it, just — 

Just *all* of it — 

d'Artagnan can't hold in a *scream* — 

And then Porthos *sucks*, actually *sucks*, and no one can *do* that when they have so much of him, or even almost that much of him, and d'Artagnan is *howling* — 

Bucking helplessly and *howling* — 

Gripping at Porthos's silky curls and — 

In-in-in — 

Porthos is *nodding* — 

Holding him so tightly, so firmly — 

Pulling him *in* — 

Gripping d'Artagnan's *arse* — 

The breeze shifts and tickles his sensitized nipples and d'Artagnan wants to writhe, wants to spread his legs, wants to be *touched* — 

Wants — 

"*Please*!" 

He doesn't know how to *ask* for what he wants — 

He doesn't *know* what he wants, not exactly, but it's more, it's more of Porthos, and he *needs* — 

"*Please*, Porthos, *please*!" 

And Porthos *grips* him by *one* hip and — 

And starts petting d'Artagnan's cleft. 

Starts — 

His fingers are so big, so *broad*, that even just having two fingers there is spreading him, holding him open, rubbing him, exposing him — 

d'Artagnan's cock is spasming and jerking and leaking so *much* — 

Porthos is *moaning*, suckling, *grunting* — 

They're *both* grunting, and d'Artagnan is shoving back against those big fingers, those hot fingers, those — 

But in, he has to get in, has to — 

He needs everything, he — 

He's *yanking* Porthos's *hair* — 

This can't — 

He's usually *better* than this — but when he tries to slow down, when he tries to *control* himself, Porthos makes an unhappy noise and starts *massaging* d'Artagnan's cock with his lips — 

His soft *lips* — 

And he starts rubbing hard circles on d'Artagnan's *hole* — 

And d'Artagnan *sobs* — 

Porthos looks up into d'Artagnan's eyes immediately — 

*Searches* him — 

"Please don't stop! Please don't —" 

And then Porthos *presses* on d'Artagnan's hole and — starts to *make* d'Artagnan fuck his face. 

Starts — 

In a rhythm *he* chooses. 

Hard and fast and — so dirty, so raw, so — 

d'Artagnan sobs again — 

*Again* — 

d'Artagnan's hands shake in Porthos's *hair* — 

d'Artagnan's toes curl and his whole body *trembles* and he sobs, he sobs, he *screams* — 

And Porthos pushes in, just a little, with one finger, and d'Artagnan gasps and spurts all over Porthos's throat. 

He — 

d'Artagnan's eyes are open, but he can't see. 

His mouth is open, but he doesn't know what *sounds* he's making — 

Porthos is still making him *fuck* — 

Porthos's finger inside him is so — 

So *hot* — 

What would his cock be like?

d'Artagnan spurts again and again and then slumps, gasping and whimpering, in Porthos's hands. 

There's a stretch of nothing. Or — well. Of pretty colours. 

After that nothing — he still can't see. 

Not well. 

Porthos is suckling so *gently* at his cock, and it's going to *kill* him in about a minute, but for now it just feels like the most amazing and decadent thing ever. 

Porthos is still holding him *up* — 

Both hands again, but his *arms* aren't even *shaking* —

Wait, d'Artagnan can't — he straightens up some and pushes a little at Porthos's grip. 

"Mm?" 

"Nnrrrght — fuck — uh." 

Porthos whickers again — *around* d'Artagnan's cock — 

"*Fuck* —" 

Porthos pulls back and laughs, lowering d'Artagnan until they're eye to eye again. And winks. "I'm *almost* sorry." 

d'Artagnan stares at his smile and tries to remember what he was — no. "I — I — you have to put me down. All the way down." 

Porthos blinks. "Why?" 

"Because... you'll get tired?" 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

"You... won't get tired?" 

"Centaurs are strong, love. You know that." 

Love? No — no. "The centaurs who come to town..." 

"Usually don't show off. *Got* it. I uh..." He lifts d'Artagnan a little higher. "I'd get tired if I kept this up for a *while*, but..." He shrugs. "Does it bother you?"

d'Artagnan licks his lips. "It's um. Well, it's really hot, actually." 

Porthos licks *his* lips. "Is it." 

d'Artagnan grins ruefully. "Everything *about* you..." He shakes his head. "Can I... touch you?"

Porthos inhales sharply. "Yeah, you can. However you want," he says, and *then* sets d'Artagnan down.


	2. Whew, it's a good thing you thought this through, guys.

And then it's just a matter of figuring out how to look basically *competent* while also — 

But. 

Neither of them have made love to people from their respective species before. They can... ask questions. 

d'Artagnan scoots back just a *little* and strokes Porthos's belly-fur, and his chest — 

His *horse*-chest — so strong and muscular — 

d'Artagnan pats and scratches — 

Porthos shivers — 

"I'd like to know *how* to touch you," d'Artagnan says. "How to *please* you." 

Porthos makes that sound — 

And d'Artagnan realizes that he's plucking and stroking and scratching at that belly-fur. "Like this?" 

Porthos pants — "Sometimes... my brothers and I touch each other a lot. Stroke each other, sniff, nuzzle, mouth — even when we're not making love." 

"Oh. Yeah?" 

"Yeah. It always... works me up a bit, though. Gets me hungry. *Excited*," Porthos says, and his eyes are wide and a little wild. 

*d'Artagnan* pants — and leans in to sniff the sweat on Porthos's neck. The scents are incredible and *intense*. Obviously *male*, but even more obviously *animal*, musky and deep and powerful — 

d'Artagnan is dragging his hands over every part of Porthos he can *reach* — 

d'Artagnan is trying to reach more *fur* — 

Porthos is shivering and making that noise, that wonderful — "You like my scents..." 

"Yeah. Yeah, I really do," d'Artagnan says, because he's not going to get soft — 

Because he's going to be *really* hard again *soon* — 

He *presses* his cock against Porthos's belly — 

"Oh, d'Artagnan..."

He licks and kisses Porthos's neck, *sucks* at the pulse-point — 

"*Fuck*, love..." 

Love — no. d'Artagnan *bites* there — 

"Nnh —" 

And nuzzles Porthos's incredible beard — 

Porthos *grips* him and kisses him, kisses him hard, kisses him so *deep* — 

Porthos *shoves* his tongue deep into d'Artagnan's mouth and fucks him and fucks him — 

*Takes* him so — but then he pushes d'Artagnan *back*. 

"Porthos? What —" 

"I — I —" And Porthos smiles ruefully. "I was going to let *you* choose what *you* wanted, love."

d'Artagnan licks his lips. "I want to please you, Porthos —" 

"Fuck. Uh." Porthos — somehow — *whickers* ruefully. "I need to be touched... more. My belly. My bollocks —" 

"Your cock?" 

Porthos looks at him so — steadily. *Needily*. "Please. But only —" 

"Don't say I don't have to," d'Artagnan says, and kisses Porthos hard and brief — 

"*Mm* —" 

d'Artagnan pulls back and grins. "I already know that." And he moves around the sprawl of Porthos's front legs so he can *get* to his firm, muscular horse-belly — 

So he can scratch and pet — 

"Harder — fuck, harder than that —" 

d'Artagnan uses *all* of his strength on Porthos's belly — 

Porthos *groans* — 

And d'Artagnan *stares* at that cock. That huge, long — 

Jerking and leaking and — 

"You really did leave a puddle of slick," he says, and pauses in his stroking to give his own cock a squeeze — 

Porthos laughs — "I don't know what you expected, love. The *noises* you make — oh, fuck, yeah, *scratch* me —" 

d'Artagnan obeys — 

d'Artagnan scratches right back *to* Porthos's cock — 

"*Fuck* — *d'Artagnan* —" 

"Your cock is — amazing," d'Artagnan says, and cups it in both hands — 

Porthos makes that noise again — 

*Fills* the air with his *scents* — 

His sheath is pulled back all the way, and d'Artagnan can see that Porthos's cock is *piebald*, that it's mottled and — 

And *jerking* and *leaking* and — 

And d'Artagnan is already *stroking* — 

"Love — *love* —" 

"You — you keep calling me —" 

"Do you need me to *stop*." 

"You have too much *control*," d'Artagnan says, and *squeezes* the base of Porthos's cock — 

"*Yes* — 

And then the tip — 

"d'Artagnan —" 

"Too much *control*," d'Artagnan says again, and alternates hands squeezing, *working* — 

And suddenly there's a huge hand on the back of d'Artagnan's neck, a huge hand *gripping* him and — "*Stop*." 

d'Artagnan grunts and opens his hands *immediately* — 

Porthos's cock jerks and jerks and — 

"Please —"

Porthos makes that *noise* again — 

d'Artagnan *pants* — 

"You think I have too much control, love...?" And that... that tone of voice was low and hard and *dangerous*. 

Porthos is — d'Artagnan can *feel* his gaze, feel his *hot* gaze, his hungry and *wild* gaze — 

"Answer me." 

It occurs to d'Artagnan that he's never once stopped to wonder — really wonder — just what he's getting himself into with Porthos. That Porthos has been too friendly, too open, too *easy* — 

Too *gentle* and *reassuring*. 

But — he doesn't have to be. 

He'd *offered* that 'amorous beast-man' game, and he'd obviously liked it when d'Artagnan had turned him *down*, but this — 

This is something different. 

Porthos tightens his *grip* — 

This isn't a game. d'Artagnan moans. "Please —" 

"Do you. Think. I have. Too much. *Control*." 

d'Artagnan's cock jerks and spatters Porthos and the grass. "I — I want this," he says, because he has to. 

Porthos makes that *noise* — "You want — tell me what you want, love." 

"I want you. I want — you can play with me, or you can *not* play with me — it's all great. It's all *wonderful*. I want to make love with you however you want. And then. I want to do it again."

"Today...?" And Porthos's hand is very, very still on the back of his neck, and he doesn't call d'Artagnan 'love' again, and — 

d'Artagnan blushes hard. "Every — every time I can see you." 

Porthos growls and growls and *shudders* — 

His hand *flexes* on the back of d'Artagnan's neck — 

"Love... back up." 

"Please —" 

"I'm going to stand. And you're going to *suck* me." 

d'Artagnan hears himself make a *desperate* noise — 

He scoots back as soon as Porthos lets him *go* — 

And Porthos stands and shakes himself out a little. A *little*. And then he stares down at d'Artagnan with *hot* eyes, and he's so hard, so *hard* —

d'Artagnan crawls to him, *grips* him right around that medial ring — 

It's so hard — 

It's so *springy* and hard — 

And looking at the head of Porthos's cock straight-on like this — 

Seeing how *furled* it is — 

Seeing all the little *folds* — 

"Porthos — fuck — you're so beautiful —" 

Porthos whicker-growls and stamps — 

"I'm sorry, I won't make you wait," d'Artagnan says, opening wide and taking as much as he can — 

Porthos *whinnies* and stamps and stamps — 

d'Artagnan *sucks*, slurping and groaning and — 

Fuck, the taste — 

The taste is so *strong* — 

d'Artagnan sucks harder and slurps up his own *drool*, but he's still dripping, still — 

And Porthos whinnies again and his cock *jerks* in d'Artagnan's mouth, *amazingly* powerfully — 

d'Artagnan groans and sucks and suckles and licks, *strokes* the rest of Porthos's cock — 

"*Love* —" 

"Mm — mm-hm!" 

Porthos *thrusts*, bumping the back of d'Artagnan's throat *immediately*, and d'Artagnan has reflexes for that, d'Artagnan can't *help* but swallow — 

And *jerk* on his knees, because he's never been this full, never — 

Porthos is snorting and stamping *hard*, shaking the *earth*, but he's also *fucking* d'Artagnan, fucking in slow and hard and thick, thick and long, thick and *perfect* — 

d'Artagnan's eyes roll back in his head — 

He strokes and *strokes* the part of Porthos's cock he can't take — 

Porthos keeps *thrusting* — 

"Love — *suck* me!" 

d'Artagnan groans in his chest and obeys, *obeys*, and he needs this, he needs this so much, he's *aching* — 

"Oh, your *musk* — you *love* this —" 

*Yes*, he does, he *does*, and he tries to fuck *himself* on Porthos's cock, tries to catch his *rhythm* — 

Porthos whinnies again and thrusts *painfully* hard — 

Thrusts even *deeper* — 

d'Artagnan thinks he'll *faint* — 

"Fuck — *fuck* —" And Porthos makes that noise, stamps and pulls out, pulls *out* — 

All the way out of d'Artagnan's *throat* — 

d'Artagnan gasps and moans and *begs*, tries to *beg* — 

He keeps gasping — 

Drool and slick are dripping to the ground — 

He slurps and suckles and tries to fuck himself again, more, *please* — 

"Oh, love, you're so hungry, you're so —" And Porthos makes that noise again — "You're no hungrier than *me*," Porthos says, and, "Be *still*." 

d'Artagnan *obeys* — 

Porthos *thrusts* — 

d'Artagnan gulps — 

Swallows and swallows and *sucks* — 

Strokes — 

Fucks himself and works Porthos's incredible cock and *dreams* of having it all the time, just — 

All the *time*. 

Porthos is keeping himself from fucking in too deep, but he's fucking him *faster*. *Harder* — 

Porthos is stamping again and *again* — 

Shivering all over and — 

"You're bloody *perfect*," Porthos says, and he sounds so strained, so *needy* — 

Oh, d'Artagnan wants to be good, wants to be as good for him as he's been — 

He reaches up with his free hand for Porthos's huge, heavy balls — 

So furry and so — 

Fuck, what would it be like to kiss them? To — 

To try to get one in his *mouth*? 

d'Artagnan is groaning in his chest again, blushing, *squirming* as he suckles and gets *fucked*, as he crushes those heavy balls up against Porthos's cock and *squeezes* — 

Porthos stamps and stamps so *hard* — 

d'Artagnan urges him to fuck him *faster* — 

"*Love* — don't —" 

d'Artagnan sucks hard *helplessly* as Porthos pulls out — 

Porthos *neighs* and *shoves* in — 

Deep again, *deep* — 

He pulls out — 

Not all the *way* — 

He shoves back *in* — 

d'Artagnan groans and *trembles*, *clenches* — 

He pulls out and stamps — 

Shoves in *immediately* — 

d'Artagnan bucks and *squeezes* him, cock and balls — 

And Porthos *neighs* and spurts, spurts hot and wet and — 

Right down d'Artagnan's *throat*!

There's so *much* — 

d'Artagnan swallows and swallows *reflexively*, even though Porthos's cock is too deep for it to — 

And then Porthos shivers and whicker-growls and pulls out *while* his cock is spasming and spurting — 

d'Artagnan suckles and suckles and — 

Swallows — 

*Chokes* a little, because it's *really* a *lot* — 

And then it's in his mouth, *filling* his mouth, and the taste is amazing, rich and thick and so musky, so *different* from every boy he's ever sucked off, but still — 

Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, this is going to get him *fixated*. 

d'Artagnan slurps it *all* up, humming and moaning and *tasting*, just — 

Licking and lapping and *tasting*, and he's *aware* that Porthos is making noises — 

Maybe even talking — 

d'Artagnan will ask him what he'd said later. 

Porthos's cock is still spasming so *hugely* in his mouth, so — 

It's so *big*. 

It makes it feel so *important*, so incredibly... 

d'Artagnan moans and strokes Porthos's cock a little more, tries to get it to *jerk* more, *move* him — 

"Oh, bloody *hell*, love, I — fuck —" He spurts again — 

"*Mmmm*..." 

Porthos makes that *noise* again. "Is that it, love? You want more? You didn't get enough...?" 

Oh... d'Artagnan pulls back and licks his swollen lips. "I —" But he's too hoarse to get a sound out properly, at first. He clears his throat a few times. 

"Easy, love, easy..." 

"Yeah, I — it's okay. You were gentle enough," d'Artagnan says, and strokes Porthos's *legs*. 

Porthos laughs *hard*. "You didn't make it *easy*." 

"I —" 

"Do you want *more*." 

"Are you... up for more?" And d'Artagnan peers up and out from under Porthos — 

Porthos is turned back over his shoulder and grinning. "I most *assuredly* am, love." 

d'Artagnan blushes and — "You taste so good..." 

Porthos licks his lips. "So do you..." 

"I —" 

"Shh. Do you want to taste me more, love? Or do you want something... else." 

d'Artagnan moans. "I want everything with you. I want. I want you to fuck me. My arse, I mean." 

Porthos narrows his eyes. "That is *very* good to hear, love —" 

"I *meant* it —" 

"I know you did. But that's not the kind of thing I'm comfortable doing with a human without... a little help," Porthos says, and smiles wryly. 

d'Artagnan blinks. "I... what?"

"Neither my father *nor* Aramis would let me leave Herd territory without a pot of good oil 'just in case', but *they* know what they're doing when they're fucking humans, love." 

"I could — tell you." d'Artagnan winces. "Except that I couldn't, because I've never — uh. Right." 

Porthos reaches back and strokes d'Artagnan's face. "It's all right. We'll have this again, eh? Again and again, because they'll need oil and a crowbar to pry me off caravan duty." 

d'Artagnan coughs a laugh — and grins. 

"Your face isn't too sore..." Porthos says thoughtfully. 

"Just a little. I can um. You can fuck me again." 

Porthos makes that noise. "Then shouldn't you get back into position...?" 

d'Artagnan's cock jerks — "Yes, Porthos," he says, and grins wide as he obeys, getting into just the right position to work Porthos's cock and balls with his hands. He reaches up to *grip* — 

"Oh, *yeah*, love, I — *mm*. Lick me. Lick the head." 

"Nnh. It's all. It's all soft and furled and —" He licks and licks — "They say women's cunts are like that, but I've never seen one up close —" He *slurps* and licks — 

Laps and slurps more as Porthos *shudders* — 

"Are centaur women like —" 

"They — fuck — a little. Not so much wrinkling, most of the time. But I've *heard* about — mm. *Fuck*. About *your* women." 

d'Artagnan moans — 

Wraps his lips around the head and moans *more* — 

"Oh, *love* — you like that? You like thinking about me fucking *more* humans?" 

d'Artagnan moans more and suckles and slurps his way off — "Yeah, and I don't know *why*," he says, and they both laugh hard. 

"Fuck, love, I — mm. Maybe you just like the idea of seeing my cock work its way into as many tight holes as possible..." 

"That's so *hot*," d'Artagnan says, and licks and licks and *licks* all *over* Porthos's cock — 

Sucks *kisses* — 

Sucks *hard* kisses — 

Porthos *gasps* — "I wanted — I wanted the same kinds of things..." 

"Mm?" 

Porthos makes that *noise* — "Get my cock in your *mouth*, love —" 

d'Artagnan *obeys*, swallowing immediately and urging, *urging* — 

Porthos whinnies and *thrusts* — 

d'Artagnan *bucks* on his knees and — takes it, just takes it, slurps and sucks and *holds* Porthos's cock and balls, but — 

"Oh. Oh, I see. You want this to *last* for a while..." 

d'Artagnan nods and nods and suckles *lightly* — 

Porthos makes that noise and pulls out slowly, *slowly* — 

d'Artagnan groans in his chest — 

*Shakes* — 

*Sucks* — 

Porthos *thrusts* — 

d'Artagnan *clenches* and bucks — 

And Porthos pulls out slowly again, so — 

Oh, d'Artagnan can feel every inch, every — 

The medial ring is kissing his *lips* — 

He kisses it *back* — 

Porthos *thrusts* — 

d'Artagnan bucks again, and he's so hard, he's so *hard* — 

"Oh, love — oh, love, the way you *want* this..." 

d'Artagnan groans and nods violently, tries to urge Porthos *faster* — 

He needs to be fucked — 

He needs to be *fucked* — 

Porthos stamps and shivers — "Already, love? You — mm. Mm. But I can't turn this down. I can't ever — you're so bloody gorgeous," Porthos says, and pulls out a little faster —

And fucks *in* — 

And pulls out *immediately* — 

And fucks *in*, and his cock *jerks* inside d'Artagnan, and it's so big, so *big*, so important and so — 

d'Artagnan nods and nods — 

He can't *see* — 

He can't — 

"I — have to let you *breathe* —" 

And *then* d'Artagnan notices that he hadn't breathed since Porthos had thrust in the first time, that he's all but swaying on his knees, that he's sweating, aching, *needing* — 

Sucking so *hard* — 

Begging with his *lips* — 

Porthos whinnies and pulls *out*, all the way out of his throat — "*Breathe*." 

d'Artagnan gasps and gasps and — licks the head of Porthos's cock, mouths it, breathes through his nose and gives himself *over* to loving that cock — 

So wet and long and *big* — 

Opening him — 

"Love — *love* —" And Porthos stamps and stamps and shoves *deep* — 

d'Artagnan groans and squeezes his balls, squeezes them *hard* — 

Porthos whinnies and shoves *deeper* — 

d'Artagnan's eyes roll back — 

"No — I — *fuck* —" And Porthos pulls back, pulls back — 

d'Artagnan shakes and tries to *keep* him — 

"Love, don't —" 

d'Artagnan *works* the base of his cock, mouths him, massages him with his lips, tries to make it good, tries to make himself *necessary* — 

And Porthos whinnies again and shoves in, *in* — 

So deep — 

So *deep*!

d'Artagnan's mouth falls open in *shock* — 

"Mouth. *Shut*!" 

He closes it, he sucks, he tries — 

He can't — 

He can't think, he can't breathe, he can't — 

His *hands* are shaking too much to be any good on Porthos's cock and balls — 

And Porthos is stamping, snorting, push-pushing with his cock and obviously holding onto his control by a *thread* — 

d'Artagnan is so *hard* — 

d'Artagnan needs this so *much* — 

He squeezes Porthos's cock and balls as hard as he can, squeezes because there's nothing else he *can* do with how much he's shaking — 

And Porthos whinnies and starts to fuck him in earnest, one *shoving* thrust after another that fills d'Artagnan, opens him, works him — 

All of it, all at once, and all d'Artagnan can think is that, someday, there'll be a different centaur watching and helping Porthos fuck his *arse*. 

And that then, after, maybe Porthos will share d'Artagnan with him. 

Maybe — 

Maybe it'll be one of his *brothers* — 

d'Artagnan groans and sucks and sucks, as much as he *can*, but he's drooling so much, dripping all over his own cock and thighs, and Porthos is fucking him so hard, so good, so *right* — 

Porthos is whinnying over and over and *stamping* over and over and — 

Oh, d'Artagnan *knows* that he's still fighting to keep his control, that he's still being *gentle*, but it doesn't *feel* that way. 

It's so *hard* — 

It's so *hot* — 

It's so dirty and hot and *big*, wild, different from everything and *better* than *anything* — 

d'Artagnan squeezes again — 

*Again* — 

*Works* Porthos's cock and balls and just — 

Tries to be good, tries to be *right*, because he needs this so — 

"*d'Artagnan* — you —" And Porthos whinnies again, shoves in and in and *in* so fast, so *fast* — 

Over and over until he stops suddenly — 

His cock spasms *hard* — 

d'Artagnan squeezes *again* — 

And Porthos shouts and spasms and *spurts*, filling him up and stamping again and *again*. 

This time, he only stays deep for a couple of spurts before pulling back to fill d'Artagnan's mouth, though. He — 

Oh, he knows what d'Artagnan *needs*, and d'Artagnan is *panting* through his nose and moaning and *wallowing* in all the seed. Just — 

He needs it, he needs *this*. 

"*Yes*, love, *yes* —" 

He doesn't care what *anyone* back in the village says — this is...

This is exactly right. 

He milks Porthos's balls to get as much seed as possible, lapping at the incredibly *fascinating* head and suckling. 

He doesn't make a mess. 

He doesn't... waste. 

"Oh, shit, love, you're *killing* me," Porthos says, and his laugh is so big, so *happy* — 

d'Artagnan grins around his mouthful — and *yelps* in *pain* — 

"Oh, that didn't sound — did you just try to smile again?" 

d'Artagnan pulls off slowly and carefully. "Um..." 

"Yeah, I... I think you're going to need some *care*, love," and Porthos is looking back over his shoulder. 

d'Artagnan blinks and crawls out from under him again. "Like... from a *healer*?" His voice is so *rough* — 

And *Porthos* grins — and waggles his fingers. "Nah. From *me*. I'll rub you down a bit. You'll still be in *some* pain, but you wont make the *bad* noises, I don't think."

"Oh. All right. I... I've never... had this problem before. Not this... um. But of course it makes sense." 

Porthos folds himself right back down next to d'Artagnan. "You're a sturdy lad. *Strong*," he says, and licks his lips. 

And that... "I want to talk to you." 

"Mm?" 

"I want to talk to you about — just everything. But I'm really hard again —" 

"I was wondering when you'd notice —" 

d'Artagnan splutters — and yelps again — "Please don't make me *do* that!" 

Porthos laughs hard again and *hauls* d'Artagnan close, burying his face in the curls at d'Artagnan's groin — 

"NNH —" 

"I *was* going to take it slow —" 

"I can't handle slow!" 

"Right you are," Porthos says, and *nips* d'Artagnan's balls — 

"*Oh* —"

— before swallowing him again, swallowing him and sucking *brutally* hard — 

"*Porthos*!" 

Porthos shoves a finger in *next* to d'Artagnan's cock, and that's strange, hot, *hard*, so *good* — 

It makes d'Artagnan need to *fuck* — but Porthos is holding him still, holding him *tightly* still — 

d'Artagnan *whines* — 

Porthos sucks *harder* — 

d'Artagnan shouts and tries and fails to *buck* — 

And then Porthos pulls his wet finger out and rubs and rubs at d'Artagnan's hole, and d'Artagnan forgets everything, forgets everything he wants to do, everything he wants to talk about, forgets the pain in his *jaw*. 

Just — "*Please*!" 

And Porthos nods and pushes *in*, pushes — 

d'Artagnan clenches and *panics*, because what if Porthos thinks that he should *stop* — 

But all Porthos does is rock his finger back and forth and back and forth and d'Artagnan is hot, so hot, so — 

"Porthos — *please*, I *need* you, I need you to *fuck* me!" 

And Porthos *focuses* on him, dark eyes narrow and *hot* — 

d'Artagnan flexes open with a *cry* — 

And Porthos pushes in, in, all the way in with his huge finger, his rough finger, his perfect *finger* — 

d'Artagnan *shouts* — 

Clenches again and again — 

Tries to *buck* — 

*Fails* — 

Porthos narrows his eyes again — this time in a hot *smile* — and *moves* d'Artagnan by his grip on his hip, working d'Artagnan back and forth between his mouth and his finger — 

In and out and out and *in* — 

d'Artagnan's jaw drops —

The pain just makes him *spasm* — 

Porthos *sucks* — 

d'Artagnan *whimpers* —

Porthos bends his finger *up* — 

d'Artagnan *howls* — 

Porthos's *ears* twitch and he works d'Artagnan faster — 

*Faster* — 

Sucks *harder* — 

d'Artagnan can't help fighting to fuck, fighting to fuck harder, *faster* — 

And then Porthos gives it to him, working him hard and fast and dirty, so *dirty* — 

d'Artagnan *screams* — 

Throws his head back and — and *chokes* on a scream, because Porthos starts fucking him *harder*, fucking him on a different *rhythm*, and it's so scrambling, so confusing and wild and — 

He can't — 

He can't *see* — 

He can't think and he can't stop screaming and he needs more, wants more — 

Porthos sucks hard *and* bends his finger up — 

And d'Artagnan howls and stares at *nothing* as he spurts all over Porthos's hot mouth, sucking mouth, perfect *mouth*. 

And then Porthos starts *grinding* him in, making d'Artagnan fuck him so hard, so *hard* — 

His finger is so *big* in d'Artagnan — 

d'Artagnan can't stop *screaming* — 

His throat *hurts* — 

And then his cock spasms *dry* and he slumps in Porthos's hands — 

Porthos makes an *appreciative* noise around him — 

d'Artagnan whimpers as his *fingers* spasm — and he realizes that he'd been yanking at Porthos's hair again. 

It's a wild *nest* of curls right now, and. 

And d'Artagnan can't actually remember how fingers work well enough to do anything about that. 

He pets Porthos, instead. 

Porthos laughs around him — 

"Grrrkkt —" 

And then Porthos pulls back and pulls out, slowly and steadily — 

"Oh — oh..." 

— and lays d'Artagnan out on his back in the grass. "Give me just a minute, eh? I smell a stream." 

"Oh, it's — it's right over —" d'Artagnan's arm flops pathetically when he tries to point, and he blushes hard. 

Harder when Porthos looks at him like he's *adorable*. 

"I..." 

Porthos pats him with his clean hand. "I'll be right back to take care of you, love. *Relax*." 

*d'Artagnan* is usually the one doing the caretaking after sex, and — 

This is a little strange. 

A little...

Is it making him nervous? He doesn't think nervous is the right word for it, considering how fuzzy and limp and full of *good* feelings he is. But... 

There's something. 

He frowns and tries to figure out what it is, but he doesn't have an answer by the time Porthos is back with clean hands. 

He hadn't washed anything else, and that's... wonderful.

d'Artagnan smiles — 

Winces — 

Smiles *anyway* — 

"Oi, there, *easy*," Porthos says, folding himself back down and cupping his face. "And tell me what's wrong?" 

"I'm better now —" 

"Then tell me what *was* wrong," he says, and raises his eyebrows. 

And that... "You really want to know." 

"Yeah, I do, love," he says, and it's simple and matter-of-fact, and — 

And — "I think. I think you care about me," d'Artagnan says, and blushes *hard* — 

Porthos's smile quirks. "I'm glad you noticed." 

"Are you um. Are you always this quick?" 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. "Is that what's bothering you?" 

"No, but —" 

"You need to know, *got* it." And Porthos looks thoughtful for a moment. "There's seer blood in my clan. Not strong — not in generations — but still. We tend to have good instincts. So... I'd say I trust my instincts." 

"But —" 

"When my instincts *don't* tell me anything in particular about a person? I can be right cautious." 

d'Artagnan blinks. "Oh." 

"Yeah," Porthos says, and strokes the sweaty hair back from d'Artagnan's face. "Does that answer your question?"

"I — yes." 

"Are you —" 

"I'm sure." 

"I'm not going to pressure you or anything like *that*, you know, love. I'm not — that's not my way." 

"Oh. No?" 

Porthos blinks. "Are you disappointed?" 

d'Artagnan blushes. "I... can we leave that for now?" 

Porthos gives him a *shrewd* look. "Should we?" 

d'Artagnan's heart *pounds*. 

He pants — 

"I want you so much. I — fuck. I don't know..." 

"What don't you know, mm?" And Porthos pets him, strokes him with both big hands — 

Soothes him — 

"Tell me. You can tell me anything." 

"I — before, it was strange being left here so you could get ready to care for me, because it's always me doing things like for other people." 

Porthos nods and listens. He — 

He *listens* — 

d'Artagnan moans and sits up — 

"Love —" 

"I just — have to be closer to you..."

And Porthos makes that noise and props d'Artagnan up against his bent leg — 

Pulls him in against his huge, broad chest — 

"How's this?" 

"That's so good. *This* is so good. I just — it *bothered* me when you left, because it was so different from what I've had before, and I felt — I think I felt like I wasn't doing what I was supposed to do, wasn't — wasn't fulfilling my *responsibilities* —" 

"Oh, love —" 

"And this — you just keep — this just keeps being better and *better*, and I don't know if this is who I'm actually supposed to be, but. I think so. I think so." 

Porthos holds him *tight* — 

"Yes — *please* —" 

"My father is the war-leader, and he's high on the Herd councils. He's um. Well, he says a lot of shit he shouldn't to the wrong people, and a lot of the wrong people *hate* him, but he still has a fair amount of influence, love." 

"I — what?" 

"He could *push* for the offers to be made to your people, eh? He could..." Porthos shivers. "Wouldn't it be good for your family if your goods got sold as far as *we* traveled?"

"Oh. *Oh*." 

"You could come *with* us, *be* with us —" 

"You'd — want me to." 

"*Yes*. And you could — it *would* be good for your family; we'd make sure of it. We'd give considerations and –" 

"Porthos."

"Mm?" 

d'Artagnan cranes up to meet Porthos's gaze. "I care about you, too." 

Porthos licks his lips. "But... no?"

d'Artagnan grins, even though it hurts. "But *yes*. I just — wanted to say it." 

Porthos makes that *perfect* noise and *puts* d'Artagnan back down again — 

"*Hey* —" 

"Have to take care of you, don't I?" 

"I —" 

"We *both* have people to make *good* impressions on, love," Porthos says, and grins like — like the sun on the brightest, most beautiful day of the year. 

All d'Artagnan can do is stare. 

end.


End file.
